Two things right off: First, this is not my latest entry into the ongoing discussion of what it means to be Chinese. I’ll have more on that when I’m actually in China. Second, if you’re actually Chinese, this may be rather offensive. Please don’t be put off.

Korea has made it all too apparent that living in China since August has taken its toll. It’s not just that I’m converting every price to RMB and thinking, “I haven’t paid that much for a meal in months.” It’s that I seem to have picked up some very “Chinese” habits.

“Chinese,” in fact, has become something of a derogatory term among the teachers I’ve been hanging with, at least those who’ve spent time in the Middle Kingdom. Every time I step off the curb, about to dash across eight lanes of speeding traffic, I have to remind myself that I’m not in China, and no one in Seoul is expecting me to run in front of their car. “So Chinese,” my friend Sam and I tell each other often.

I tried to pay my part of a cab fare last night, only to have my W1,000 ($1.07) handed back to me. “You’re Chinese. You need it,” my friend said. She’s right. Until pay day at this month’s end, I’m living on the meager savings from my Dalian university teaching salary.

Oh, and I spit. Disgusting, I know, but I’d almost gotten to the point when I could tune out the throat-clearing, the hoik, the drip and splat. It just started to seem normal. Of course, I’m sick, and my lungs are producing something foul that just wants to get out of me, so I’m inclined to help it along, civility be damned.

I hate to say it, but I think James Fallows was right.

This entry was posted on Friday, January 12th, 2007 at 9:37 pm and is filed under roadside blogging. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.